CHAPTER XIV. RETURN TO BERWICK-EPISTLE IN REPLY-ANECDOTE-NO JUS TICE FOR IRELAND-LETTER FROM THE STOUT GENTLEMANFAREWELL TO THE BORDERS-A LOWLAND MANSION-A SCOTTISH LANDLORD-ROUTES TO INVERARY-REST, AND BE THANKFULANGLING IN GLENCROE-CARRICK CASTLE-JOURNEY TO LOCH AWE-ANECDOTE. I RECEIVED, my dear Jack, a packet on my return to head-quarters-the King's Arms—after, by the especial protection of the sainted Cuthbert, effecting a safe passage from Holy Island; and among several letters, recognised one superscribed in the well-known handwriting of my esteemed kinsman, thyself. By the way, as Tony Lumpkin says, "a d-d crabbed piece of penmanship" it was; but you're too old now to reform your cacography. And so, some playful neighbour slipped a bullet through the new tenant's cota more! * Well, it was only serving him with a plain "notice to quit," and also in strict accordance with the simple practice recommended by those learned pundits who legislate in Daniel's new * Great coat. court of equity-the martyred magistrates. And you affect surprise and displeasure! Now, Jack, take care that your own conduct will pass muster, not in Heaven's chancery, but on the Corn Exchange. Have you played off no Sassenach tricks? Are you guiltless of Saxon tyranny? Have you not remonstrated against waste of land, or trespass upon turbary? Or-climax of oppression !—have you driven some refractory bog-trotter, who, declining to pay rent, and still continue, like his enslaved father, "a hereditary bondsman," nobly struck for freedom, and made himself, Hibernicè, "a freeholder?" If you have put this honest gentleman's cattle in the pound, why the sooner you slip across St. George's Channel the better. Remain, and, as Jack Falstaff says, " By the Lord, you're past praying for!" In the long catalogue of Irish grievances—and their name is legion-one crying insult put upon the "first gem of the earth" has, by a strange oversight, escaped the loyal Repeal Association. I shall tell it to you. I happened to be in "the far West" when the news of King William's death arrived; and the servant waiting at table, overheard me read the announcement from an English newspaper. The window was open, and when the chief butler left the room, he hurried to the yard to 188 NO JUSTICE FOR IRELAND. communicate the demise of royalty to the stableman, who was at the time throwing litter into a cart. The out-door gentleman listened to the sad tidings, grounded his pitchfork, and cogitated for a moment; then, slapping his thigh, exultingly exclaimed "Death a nagers! isn't that great news? Mona sin diaoul! if Dan's not made up for life!” The butler looked surprised. "Arrah, how do ye make that out, Phil?" "Make it out!" replied he of the pitchfork. "What would hinder me? Why, ye see, he'll jist cut over to Englan'-and marry the widda." "Be Gogstay, and it's truth ye're spakin'. But maybe she wouldn't take him?" "Is it not take Dan? Troth an she'd jump at him. Snug and warm he'd keep her all her days-and a dacent king he would be." The butler shook his head. "No, no!" he muttered, with a heavy sigh. "As Father Luke Devlin said in his sarmin last Sunday Dear Catthalics,' says he, 'af I talked myself black in the face, I could only come to what I said at the startin'-there's no justice for Irelan'-an ye see, Phil, that's what will dish Dan. That ould, cantankerous divil, Welltown, that the gintlemen shout about every night when they get hearty, as if they were drinkin' to Doctor Machale-Well, the ould fella, ye see, can't NO JUSTICE FOR IRELAND. 189 abide the sight of the Counsellor, good nor bad, and as he'll be what they call the exaciter to the will, he'll put a spoke in Dan's wheel, as sure as my name is Peter Canavan." "Arrah, besides, Peter avourneeine, may-be they wouldn't like him nather, because he's of the ould religion?" "Oh! an the divil a wink's on ye, Phil. The bastes, that nivir think of keepin' Friday! What could ye expect from them? My heavy curse upon them all!" "Amen!" responded he of the pitchfork. "That's the parlour bell! Oh, murder, Phil Bradley!-Is'n't it rig'lar murder? No justice for Irelan! Och hone! Och hone!" exclaimed the butler, as he ran away. Phil Bradley made a furious lounge at a sheaf of straw; and a groan, deep as low C from a bassoon, which was emitted after the exertion of carting it, told silently that he felt the necessity of cutting all connexion with a country, which would not accommodate the Liberator with a wife, and refuse that poor act of atoning justice to a most interesting and ill-treated island. It appears that my despatches are dated from the corners of the earth-to wit-Connaught and the Orcades. I have a letter from the Stout Gentleman, obtesting my return to Shetland, by 190 LETTER FROM THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. every tie of friendship, and tumbler of toddy that we consumed in former wanderings. The wish shall be obeyed; and a new route open to me a Highland tour, which I am assured abounds in scenic and traditionary interest. Much as the wild and savage grandeur of the Scottish coast may strike the eye of the visitor, they tell me that the scenery of interior-lakes and purple hills far exceeds in quiet beauty and picturesque effect, the bold and rough-hewn features of headland and promontory that I have seen already. Nous verrons: I commence my journey to-morrow. To say that I quit the Border with regret, would be but a cold expression of my feelings: for everywhere I went, and with everything I saw, I was by turns pleased and excited. He who wanders from the débouche to the source of Classic Tweed, will be dull as him who journeyed from Dan to Beersheba, if he complain that "all is barren." If, leaving the graceful bendings of the Border's boasted river, he follow through their native valleys the numerous tributaries which "Roll their bright waters to the Tweed”— how many scenes, rich in soft and varied beauty, will arrest the pilgrim's feet, while the finger of Romance points to the ruined tower, which once could tell "How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night;" |